


Kingdom Come

by WhyMrSpook



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Kings & Queens, M/M, POV James T. Kirk, Pining Kirk, Pining Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyMrSpook/pseuds/WhyMrSpook
Summary: Spock, Heir of Vulcan, comes to the Kingdom of soon to be King James to advise him through his ascendance to the throne. But equal men are not necessarily free, and feelings have no right becoming involved in the affairs of Princes.





	Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure what to say about this one, but I wanted it out of my wip folder so?? enjoy??

“Are you sure this is a good idea.”

“James, trust me.” Christopher responded, clapping a hand against Jim’s shoulder. More quasi-father than advisor, but equally as depended on. “Spock’s family have reigned Vulcan for years – and they’ve handled more than their fair share of drama along the way.” Christopher eyed him suspiciously. “Did you read the documents I had prepared for you?”

“You mean the documents that you had Hikaru and Pavel prepare for me? Poor boys.” Jim mused, reclining in his chair and positioning his feet on his desk. Too relaxed for a King. Too young and foolish and, god, Jim was terrified but he put his feet up anyway because he was damned if he let anyone else know that.

“This isn’t a joke, Son. Samuel is gone. You’re _going_ to be king, whether you like it or not.” Christopher whistled, sharply, and the doors to Jim’s chambers opened in unison. Lieutenant Commander Scott of the King’s Army entered, arms outstretched and presenting forwards the Crown of the Federation, sat atop a red velvet pillow. Jim suppressed the gulp his body seemed to require, eyes locked in an unending battle with the offensive glinting gold. It was both beautiful and terrible. Not, some would say, unlike Jim himself. Too beautiful to be King, too glassy-eyed and empty-headed. Terrible for the Kingdom. As if he hadn’t already proven himself an embarrassment to his family, now they were serving him on a platter to be the ruin of their Kingdom.

“Sam might come back. There’s time.” Jim said, not quite believing it but trying anyway. It earned him a sympathetic glance from his old friend, but nothing more. Chris never gave an inch.

His oldest friend, in both senses of the word, took the crown from Scott and threw it gracefully towards Jim – and Jim caught it, of course. That was his responsibility as the Spare, now that the heir had gone. No good King George II – no, Jim had been left to catch the crown as the younger brother, while Sam was off galivanting with no return date in sight. If Sam didn’t want to be King, there was little Jim could do but try and repair the damaged State. Queen Winona and the power-hungry Frank had already hurt their kingdom enough. Jim might have been a poor excuse for a Prince, but he thought he could try to be a good King. Maybe. Christopher seemed to think so, anyway. Jim had no choice in the matter. There _was_ no-one else. Jim turned the crown over in his hands.

“If Sam returns before the year is up, there might be hope. Until then, you have the crown, James.” Chris said, dismissing Scott with a wave of his hand. The Commander retreated silently, the doors closing behind him. “Spock is coming to help strengthen and cement. I’d want him here regardless of you or Sam taking the crown from your mother. He’ll be King of Vulcan himself, one day.”

Personally, Jim couldn’t think of anything less interesting than a stuffy Vulcan Prince waltzing into their vibrant Kingdom and telling them how to stabilise it. The factions didn’t have a leg to stand on regarding claims to the throne, and Sam may have caused a stir by abandoning his claim to the throne – but Jim was still a Kirk. He still had royal blood. He _would_ be King, regardless of the advice of a Vulcan.

“Fine.” Jim relented, not at all pouting. King’s did not pout. He placed the crown down on his desk, glad for the absence of its weight in his hands. He wasn’t entire sure how he’d hold that high for the rest of his life.

“Good boy. Or King, rather.” Christopher smirked. “I’ll retire, your Majesty.”

“Fine.” Jim shrugged. “Can you send for Bones.”

“No.” Said Chris, calmly. “But I can make Pavel.” He added, and Jim considered throwing the crown right back at him. His advisor was too complacent, but Jim found he didn’t actually mind that much. He’d spent the better part of Winona’s reign looking after Jim. More specifically, clearing up Jim’s messes. So he could accept a degree of teasing in good nature.

 

 

 

 

The first thing Jim noticed about the young Prince of Vulcan, after his cool gaze, was his beauty. He’d seen Vulcan’s before – admired their lean figures and pale skin. But Spock was something else entirely. He was all dark eyes set in sparkling purple, and cheekbones that were entirely kissable. Only Jim wasn’t allowed to think those things now that he was going to be King. Kings couldn’t, _shouldn’t,_ sleep around – and Jim had no intention of being like Frank. He’d be the pinnacle of wholesomeness – he’d marry well, and by _loyal,_ love his kids with every cell in his being and raise them to be better than him in every way.

Spock was unfathomably beautiful, though, and Jim wasn’t King _yet._ He mentally reprimanded himself, shifting in his throne and beckoning for the Prince to approach. To his right, he ignored the immature smirks of his two closest advisors. Christopher and Leonard, both evil in their own way.

“Welcome, Spock, Son of Sarek.” Jim said, offering the Ta’al as best as he could remember from his Cultural Advisor, Lady Uhura.

“My gratitude, your Majesty.” Spock said, in a voice like silk.

“Your journey must have been tiresome. Allow me to show you to your quarters.” Jim offered, standing and skipping down the steps towards the beautiful man. His equal, really, in a castle full of inferiors. Not in Jim’s eyes, but their own. It made relationships hard to maintain. Only Bones and Chris had the nerve to question him, and Jim adored them for it. But he knew it was only true because they’d known him for longer than he was meant to be King. They’d known him as a fool of a child and a terrible Prince.

Spock followed, striding just short of in time with Jim. Hands clasped behind his back, and Jim wished _he_ was the one walking behind just so he could see their slender beauty. Jim had seen his fair share of beautiful people, but he was a sucker for things he _couldn’t_ have – and Spock was the embodiment of both those things.

“Tell me, Spock, are you pleased to be here?” Jim asked, when they were clear of the great hall. “Or are you here merely on the orders of your father.” He paused, gesturing for Spock to walk beside him.

“Frankly, your Majesty, my father saw little reason for my visit. It was my wish alone to travel the realms of the Federation. Lord Pike made a strong case for my visit. While I do not doubt my Father’s impression that our trade would survive any… alterations to the throne, it has been some time since either of our governments interacted in person.”

“That is true, Spock. Very true.” Jim grinned. “I could have hosted you as a diplomat or royalty. You chose to work beneath me, to advise me. You wouldn’t find that suspicious? One might almost wonder if there is an ulterior motive for your presence.”

“I live to serve the King.” Spock said, steadfastly.

“I’m sure. But you’re here, now, and on the eve of a new age. My Coronation, weeks away. Do you serve _me?”_

“You _are_ the king.” Spock said, as if it were obvious who he served. Jim and the King, one and the same. Another mindless servant.

“For now.” Jim muttered, a feeling in the tips of his fingers, like the curve of his crown was still pressed into the skin there. The way a finger or wrist felt peculiar when he forgot to adorn a ring or watch. “And what of when the next pretender comes along to claim my throne?”

A beat passed, and Jim dragged his gaze from his own distorted reflection in his crown towards his Advisor. Spock looked as if he was going to huff, exasperated. Only he didn’t, he just met Jim’s gaze levelly.

“I live to serve the King.” He repeated.

Jim couldn’t help it. He grinned, despite himself, gesturing to the nearest door to the main tower and clapping Spock’s shoulder. “Good man. I appreciate honesty, Spock. This is going to work out just fine.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

 

 

 

 

Spock was a good advisor. Jim’s reluctance to accept him had been proven wrong within a day, when Spock demonstrated his sizeable aptitude in securing the human rights laws that the council were threatening in Sam’s absence. Jim would never have let that happen, but without Spock’s intervention it would have gone down a whole lot differently. So sure, Spock was probably a fair move on Christopher’s part. Jim found more and more that he’d invite the Vulcan to be his company for the evening, playing chess or discussing trade theory or their respective kingdoms. Spock didn’t talk as much as Bones or Chris, but every word counted, and when Jim started to speak about things that weren’t strictly so professional… Spock listened. He sat still, and looked at Jim like his ramblings and self-pity meant something.

And he was so pretty. Jim had no-one else who listened to him, who understood him, who was his equal. Chris was a father, Bones was a brother – but Spock, Spock was raw and new and pretty. Jim couldn’t help himself, despite the blatant warning glares of Pike and McCoy.

In the end, Jim wasn’t the one to make the first move anyway. It was Spock who inclined his head, daring, when Jim leaned over their game of chess to tease his visiting Prince. It was Spock who parted his lips first, tongue darting out to wet the plush flesh of his lower lip. It was Spock whose dark eyes got darker still, staring up at Jim.

One time became two, became ten, became twenty. Jim couldn’t help himself. Spock was addictive, in mind and body. Soul too probably, if he let himself really think about it. But just because they were equals, they certainly were not free to fuck each other. Not for long, anyway. Spock would go home. Jim would become King. They would marry others and face their responsibilities as rulers of their kingdoms. Spock would no longer walk the cold corridors of their castle, bundled up in layers that should not have been so mesmerising. Jim would be alone, again. But god, Jim was too far gone to care.

“Tell me this is a bad idea.” Jim murmured against green skin, cool and soft and so very inviting. Another rainy evening, another chess game, another terrible decision. “Honour me with your _honesty_ again, Spock. Just once more. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“I – can _not.”_ Spock said, voice catching when Jim sucked hard on the point of his ear.

“Wrong answer.” Jim warned, teeth tugging at his ear lobe – just on the right side of painful, and he could feel Spock’s defences weakening further. “Try again, Sir.”

“I cannot – I –“ Spock groaned deeply as Jim’s knee moved between his thighs, forcing his legs apart, entering territory already claimed. But this _was_ Jim’s territory. He and Spock were each other’s in these precious hours away from the weight of the world. Jim was running from the crown and Spock, his own Kingdom probably. Jim didn’t know. He was just happy that they could find solace in each other – and Spock _could,_ even if he wasn’t quite so verbal about it. Jim could still sense it, in the way Spock’s fingers clung to his arms – the pretty noises he made, just for Jim. All for Jim.

“Tell me this is a bad idea, Spock. You could go back home tomorrow. Just say the words.”

“I do not _want_ to.”

Jim didn’t grin, triumphant though he felt. He simply rewarded Spock, relinquishing the bite of his teeth and instead mouthing down his neck, licking and sucking in equal measure. Jim had no need to wind his hand into Spock’s hair and drag his head down, because Spock did so of his own accord, his hips jerking forward wantonly.

“What do you want, Sir?” Jim asked, delighting in his own teasing. “I’m a benevolent King. I can provide for you. All you have to do is ask.” He tore at thin linen, exposing flushed green skin and mapping out every centimetre of it.

“You, my King. Your hands – your wisdom. Please-“

 

 

 

 

“How _dare_ he.” Jim fumed, storming through his quarters, throwing his crown down too harshly against his sofa. He was too rash to be a king, too vulnerable to his own emotions. He knew that. SO why did he even care? What did it even matter if Marcus had succeeded and usurped him?

“Majesty, calm yourself.”

“I will not.” Because _that_ was why. Not Jim. Jim had never much cared if he lived or died. Not as long as his mother and Frank had ruled and driven everyone into hell. But those who had become his family. McCoy, Christopher, _Spock._ People he cared about. Would it be better to banish them all from his Kingdom, send them to safety? Spock had come solely to help stabilise the Crown, and how well that was going. “He could have killed us all. I let him get close enough to-“ Jim cut himself off, slamming his windows shut lest his servants decide to eavesdrop.

“That was my entire council and more, Spock. Lady Uhura’s whole family was there. McCoy’s daughter is in the castle with her tutor this week. He could have killed them all.”

“He could not, and he would not.” Spock countered steadily, and when Jim finally stopped pacing to look up, he found his friend was still stood by the door, still and calm. The very opposite of Jim – too human, too reckless. “If Lord Marcus wished to succeed in taking the Kingdom, he would have killed you swiftly and forced your companions into submission with his own forces.”

“No-one ever said he was clever.” Jim muttered, finally deflating and sinking down into his chair. “My apologies, Sir. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m aware such a blatant display of emotionalism must be-“

“It is of no consequence.” Jim looked up sharply, shock cutting through his morose attitude instantly. Spock had interrupted him. Spock, the epitome of decorum, had interrupted his _King_. He didn’t even seem to care. “Had your life truly been threatened today, I do not doubt that most of your council would have chosen death over submitting to a traitor’s reign.”

“Most.” Jim laughed darkly. “And what of you, Sir?”

“I live to serve the King.” Spock said.

“Yes, I know.” Jim muttered, then resumed chewing the inside of his cheek. Trying not to let his hurt seep in. He was King. For now. Maybe Spock truly didn’t feel anything- maybe he supressed it all, and had stayed in the Kingdom only for the pleasure of fucking another Prince.

“You misunderstand me, Your Majesty.” Spock interjected. “In my eyes, there will be no other King than you, or the sons you would one day pass your crown to.” He said, solemnly. “I have no desire to serve under another King, nor to return to the wealth of my own Kingdom.”

Elation swelled in Jim’s heart and mind like he had rarely experienced before. The only comparison he could think of was when he heard that King Frank had died, just before everything went to hell with his mother and brother. But this was purer than that, and far better than he deserved. Spock wanted him – _better –_ Spock had _told_ him so, and that he wanted to stay. The very idea that Jim might be able to keep Spock by his side was… dreamlike. Even if the real world had to commence, to keep Spock at his side, advising him and supporting him… it would be enough. Or maybe it would be torture to be crowned King, marry another… to look at Spock, but to never touch him again. Or to betray his kingdom and Queen, and touch him to his heart’s content, in dark shadows and deserted rooms. The crown came at a cost, after all.

“What do you desire, Spock?”

“You, my King. From the moment I laid my eyes on you. Since the moment Christopher first described you. Simply you.”

Jim could no longer restrain himself. Despite knowing, whole-heartedly that this really _was_ a terrible idea, his heart longed for it anyway. His heart and his mind, and his cock. Spock was addictive, and a wiser man would cut him away before he became any more of a problem. Jim was not a wise man. He was an addict. He strode across the room and pinned Spock to the wall, because he _could,_ and because Spock’s tongue had the unique power of stopping him from thinking. Just for a little while. Jim could afford that.

 

 

 

 

They sat by the fire, actually playing chess for the first time in weeks. They’d made it through two games and the majority of the third, before supper had arrived and they had forgotten the game in favour of eating and talking. Primarily, much to Jim’s dismay, about his reputation in the Kingdom as a bit of a wild child.

“Come now, Sir Spock. It’s not as if the issues of your own family haven’t been wiped across the kingdom. Sybok? Michael? Even Sarek’s choice of wife stirred up the countries. Your father must have done his fair share of running around after you.”

“The flaws by which you judge our race would be, perhaps, different from those we attest to voluntarily.” Spock said, uncharacteristically sombre – quiet, even, as he mused aloud. Jim tried to imitate that high arch of an eyebrow, failed miserably and grinning for it when Spock let out a little huff of air. A breath, he would call it. Jim was an optimist – he called it a sigh. “My Father, for instance, would claim I take too strongly after the characteristics of my Mother.”

“I hardly see how that’s a flaw. Queen Amanda is revered across all Kingdoms.”

Spock gave him a look like he was missing the obvious. “The Good Queen is indeed revered across _all_ the human countries, My King. It is precisely her race which inhibits the opinions of the Vulcan people, both in her own case and that of her only child. Their heir.” Spock murmured, and realisation dawned on Jim. Spock never should have been heir and Amanda, never Queen. That had been the duty of Sarek’s first wife, who should have lived to carry many more children than just Sybok. In any case, Sybok should have been heir.

“Spock, surely you must recognise that there is strength in unity. You are no more inhibited by your human side at home, as you are your Vulcan side here. Have I once asked you to be anything less than you are?”

Spock was silent, and Jim wanted to believe that he was going through their each interaction in his head, contemplating each shared meal or game of chess – each whisper against his skin in the dead of night. In reality, he thought that Spock was simply delaying the answer he already knew.

“No.” He said, finally, in nothing more than a whisper.

“No.” Jim repeated, more firmly. It was his prerogative as King, after all, to ensure his subjects… his advisors, were confident in themselves. He relied on them. On Spock, especially. He drew a hand across Spock’s cheek, his thumb trailing across green freckles Spock had gained only through his time out in the country with Jim. Each one of them, a mark of their time together. Jim wondered how long they would remain so bold, when Spock was once more operating within the covered spired city of Vulcan.

“We’re not so different, you and I.” Jim said. “Neither of us were meant to be King. We live for the failures of our older brothers. Worse things have happened.”

“You are uniquely accepting of illogic, Your Majesty.” Spock said, and Jim could feel the heat of his breath against his fingers.

“It isn’t illogical to admire you, Spock.” Jim vowed. “It isn’t illogical to want you.” He added. Not illogical, maybe. But definitely a bad idea. King Sarek would never allow anything to come from it – not without asking Jim to relinquish his crown, and that was only the _least_ he would demand.

“My King.” Spock murmured, and Jim felt his hands jerk, as if he’d gone to reach out and then halted. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that this was _not_ an equal relationship. Not while Spock was in _Jim’s_ Kingdom, and Jim was King. Spock, serving as an advisor and nothing more. Not bonded, or engaged, or even Prince and Heir of Vulcan. Jim didn’t like that, not one bit. He pushed the table out from between them and kneeled by Spock’s feet, cradled his head, pressing the lengths of their noses together.

“You can touch me, Spock.” He said, voice breaking at the very idea. “You can call me Jim.”

“I-“

Jim cut off the inevitable protests with his mouth, blocking off Spock’s. He didn’t think he could bear to hear another reminder that Spock wasn’t _his._ Just as he wasn’t Spock’s, and so had no business asking to be called anything other than the King he was. There was sweeter sorrow to be found in Spock’s hot mouth, in the noises he made from deep within – so pretty and so very incomparable.

When Jim finally pulled away for breath, hands slipping from Spock’s silky hair and down his chest, straightening out his tunic primly, he felt like he was saying goodbye. Like he’d just held the most precious life in his hand, and let go. That was his responsibility, as King. That was his final, great sacrifice.

Spock’s head dropped down, his breathing noticeably altered. Jim had every intention of gently pushing him back, of offering him a less tempting work environment. More professional. Instead, he merely tried to take his own breath back. For a long moment, he breathed in and out. Then, he heard the faintest whisper amongst their breathing.

“Jim.”

Hope captured his heart like a vice – cruel, and wonderful.

“Jim.” Spock repeated, as if tasting the word. The Vulcan looked up, slowly, showing only complete vulnerability in his deep brown eyes. His strong, independent, brilliant Vulcan – terrified that Jim would go back on his word, maybe even punish Spock for his insubordination. Jim would never – _could_ never. He was a fair ruler, and a fairer man.

“Yes, Spock?” Jim answered, dutifully.

Spock hesitated for a brief second, and Jim’s reassurances were on the tip of his tongue, before strong hand grabbed his arms firmly and pulled him back in close for another kiss. Kissing Spock was better than breathing, and his unrelenting grip on Jim’s arms and shoulders and chest and hips – Spock’s hands roamed the moment he was confident Jim had no protests to give, and Jim could only mewl under his touch, desperate for more.

“Fuck, Spock.” Jim groaned, lifting up his arms for Spock to pull off his tunic. His thicker, heavier, gold in colour. “Yes, this.” He affirmed, Spock’s mouth capturing his freed skin – licking at his nipple sharply, and continuing on his path. “You, Spock. Only you.” Jim ground himself against Spock’s hardness. “Only you get me like this.”

“One day, you will marry.” Spock gasped, so argumentative even as Jim’s hands wandered south.

“I will marry.” Jim agreed, slipping his hand inside Spock’s pants, finally, feeling the heat and want of his lover first hand. “And I may fuck them. But they will never get me like you.” Jim added, his free hand grasping one of Spocks and guiding it to his arse, pressing it firmly there.

“-J _im!”_ Spock’s head hung against Jim’s shoulder, teeth scraping against Jim’s shoulder as he attempted to regulate his breathing. Jim felt… tremendously proud to have warranted such a reaction. But it was more than just the fucking side of it, more than the knowledge that he turned Spock on – that much was obvious. It was the sheer trust in his action. He, the great and beautiful King of the Federation, was never supposed to lay down and take it like some common whore. Only Spock could ever see this side of him, ever _know_ it was something he wanted.

Spock’s hands moved, caressed, and Jim did all he could not to rut against Spock like an animal. His mouth was wicked talented, hot and inviting.

“I want – the bed, Jim. We should -.”

Jim grinned, understanding the meaning. Spock wanted them to move. And Jim was going to alright. He stepped back, grinning wickedly as Spock’s eyes followed him, hands still reaching out half-heartedly. He divested himself of the rest of his clothing, piece by piece, revelling in the hunger in Spock’s eyes. Spock desired him, and Jim found he wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable handing over the power as he should have been. It was a trait that ran in the family, apparently. His Mother to Frank, Sam to _Jim._ Now Jim to Spock, apparently – if in a slightly less disastrous way. For now, at least.

Naked, Jim stood before Spock, cock hard and desperate for attention. “You want me, Spock?” He asked, grinning hard. “I’m yours.” He turned, sauntering into the bedroom. He didn’t need to hear Spock thrusting back off the table, ornaments shaking precariously once again, to know that Spock was going to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

It was too good to be true, and too good to last. Jim tried not to feel offended when Spock declined his invitation to supper. He didn’t worry, when Spock wasn’t at breakfast or his morning meetings with the King’s counsel. He didn’t stare absently at the vacant seat until Pike kicked him in the shin and asked if he needed to adjourn for the day. He _did,_ and he hated himself for it. A King wasn’t supposed to be weak. But he went to Spock’s quarters anyway. He felt ashamed with each footstep, and the breath he took before he knocked on the door he _owned,_ in the castle he also _owned,_ in his own Kingdom no less, was a breath of pure nerves.

“I am not receiving.” Came Spock’s voice through the door, cool and almost too neutral to be natural.

“Not even your King?”

There was a pause, almost too long, before finally, “Enter.”

Jim pushed at the door, and gazed at Spock’s quarters, too aware that _this_ was the first time he had bothered to visit his advisor. There was a way to do things, after all. The King couldn’t just come and go to others’ quarters. But he’d really missed out on Spock’s, where the few rooms he’d been granted were like a slice of Vulcan. All rich colours and scents that were _Spock,_ times a hundred. Jim’s own quarters felt completely empty in comparison, but that was probably because they _were._ His childhood rooms had been taken from him the moment it become apparent his brother was not returning in time to be crowned, and Jim had been left with nothing. It was strange that Spock’s quarters should feel so much more like home than his own, in his own castle.

“Spock.” Jim greeted, quietly. His lover was sat on the floor, curled up in himself and not properly dressed.

“Your majesty. My apologies for my undress, I have been meditating.” Spock said, unfurling himself and standing with a grace Jim could only admire, but never hope to replicate. Jim wasn’t so uncultured that he didn’t understand Vulcan practices. In fact, he’d say he’d become a bit of an expert in the last month or so. Yet he’d never heard of a Vulcan meditating for a day straight, and part of him suspected that Spock was just avoiding him.

“No apologies are necessary, Spock. I’ve seen you in less.” Jim said, with an ease he’d procured out of nothing at all. It was a skill of his. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but you sent no word of your absence.” That was a crappy way of hiding his true meaning ‘You were gone, and I was worried’, but hell, Spock already knew enough about Jim to end his life entirely, so what did adding feelings to the mix matter?

“I have not been receiving visitors or servants. My meditation has required greater focus than typically.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jim asked, sinking uninvited onto Spock’s sofa. His lover was dressing, ever the proper Vulcan, but he still looked naked in terms of emotions. Pale and uncertain, in a way Jim had never seen him.

“My parents wrote to me.” Spock said, plucking a letter from his drawer and presenting it to Jim. He felt like he was being handed a death sentence, but he took it anyway and began to read. Each word sent ice through his veins. When he finally reached the end, his hands dropped into his lap and he looked up at his lover in silence.

“You wear the crown well now, my King.”

“Spock.” He tore the crown from his head, horrified he’d even forgotten it was there.

“It has been my honour to serve in your court.”

“ _Spock.”_ It was unbearable to listen to. To see the raw, unfiltered emotion in Spock’s deep brown eyes. “You’re not just another member of the court, and you never were.” His fingers toyed at one of the sharper edges on his crown – a corner, where the Federation crest had been cut away from the cool metal. How fitting that the King wore the burden of a kingdom upon his own head. “You’re the son and heir to Vulcan.”

“Our affair did not trouble you at the time.” Spock said, stiffly, as if they hadn’t just fucked the morning before. Not exactly a thing of the past- not yet. Jim couldn’t bear to think of it as such.

“Our affair _doesn’t_ trouble me at all.” Jim said, casting all thoughts away from the apparently beautiful T’Pring. As far as he was concerned, the woman was irrelevant. She would be free to marry of her choosing, if he had anything to say about it. Jim was afraid that would not be the case.

“I must return to Vulcan and bond with the mate my father has chosen for me.”

“I know. Your father sent you here to stabilise my kingdom, to advise me… not marry me.”

Spock’s eyes widened, and his voice was soft and awed. “You would marry me?”

“In a heartbeat.” Jim replied, finding it easier to speak the truth than his heavy crown had ever afforded him before.

“Jim.”

Jim sighed lightly, offering a hand across the table. Spock placed his own hand in Jim’s, and the touch was almost painful. Not in grip, just in the knowledge he would have to let go again at some point.

“I know it isn’t possible.” Jim agreed to the silent statement. “But it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Can’t a man dream.”

“You are no ordinary man.” Spock reminded him. “Nor am I. My time here was only ever temporary. It need not remain so. My Father is likely to live to a considerable age. He would prefer Michael to obtain the crown as it is. I could follow Sybok, rescind my claim.” God, wouldn’t that be a dream.

“Spock, no.” Jim shook his head. “Your people would never accept Michael, as much as they _should._ Your departure would destabilise Vulcan – your father would end up in the same situation as me.”

“Jim.” Spock bowed his head. “I cannot – there _must_ be a way. I can feel it in my heart. There is a word, in my language. T’hy’la. It means friend, brother and lover. You are my T’hy’la, Jim.”

Jim could only hold his hand tighter, rubbing a soothing thumb across his skin. “Gods, I want you, Spock. Always.” His heart burned. “Delay your return to Vulcan. Find a way to remain with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Your coronation is tomorrow.” Spock said, his voice devoid of any emotion.

“Yes.” Jim replied, equally hopeless.

“I depart the day after.”

It was like a punch to the gut. Jim was winded, hopelessly crushed under the impact of five little words. “So soon?” He choked, buckling first and turning to look at his Advisor.

“My father wished to recall me last week. Issues with the coronation allowed me to remain to see it through.” Spock lied, seamlessly. “Though I am grateful to remain long enough to see you wear your crown, your Majesty.” Jim supposed that was an attempt at humour, for all Jim had refused to wear the crown thus far in Spock’s presence.

“Spock…”

“It has been my privilege to serve you, My King.” Spock said, and Jim believed him, even as his heart broke. When his tears had cleared, he looked up, but Spock had gone.

 

 

 

“Where’s my crown?” Jim asked, striding down the Cathedral towards Pike.

“I’ve confiscated it for cleaning. Your grubby little fingers have done all kinds of hell to it. God knows what else you’ve done with it in private.”

“I hope you realise that after tomorrow, you won’t be able to talk to me like this anymore.” Jim said good-naturedly, all too aware that tomorrow would change _nothing_ about how Chris treated him. King or not, Chris was Chris.

“Of course, your Majesty.” Pike snorted. “You should return to your quarters to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Jim found himself nodding absently, his gaze drifting across the vast Cathedral to where Spock stood talking with Lady Uhura. Tomorrow, he would be gone, and Jim would feel despair worse even than that he currently felt.

“You survived a long time without him, Son. You can do it again.” Chris said, softly, displaying an impertinence that Jim almost felt he should question. But Chris was right. However upset Jim was now, he’d soon be too busy to miss Spock at all. “Go and get some sleep, Jim. You’re doing the right thing.”

“Yes, Lord Pike.” Jim said dutifully, in a way he’d never done as a child. Maybe he should have, but he couldn’t change the past. Or the present. Or the future, actually. He was pretty helpless, but hell, at least he was King. That made up for something, probably. He turned anyway, and continued to the doors, where outside he could see decorations were well underway for tomorrow. The people of his kingdom would line the streets for the coronation, and out of those faces, Jim would search only for Spock’s.

His view of the street was blocked by a carriage pulling up. Not his own royal transport to take him home, but familiar nonetheless. The door flew open, hitting the side of the carriage before the servant could even jump down to open it for them. A foot slipped out, and then the body of someone Jim had not seen for the better part of a year.

“Sam.”

His older brother looked good. Healthy and stronger, and happier than he had been when he’d left all those months before.

“Change of plans, brother mine.”

Jim stared, face hot and flushed.

“Sam?”

His older brother observed him through older eyes, and this was _not_ the Samuel that Jim remembered. As wise, and adoring. But calmer, too. He held out his hand, and out of the Carriage came the lovely Aurelan of Bajor. She, the source of Sam’s calm, Jim suspected.

“May I introduce my wife, Lady Aurelan.” Sam said, the embodiment of happiness.

Jim bowed formally, grateful there was no crown on his head to come toppling off, but still overwhelmingly confused. “You’re home?”

“To stay. We came to an agreement with Bajor. Our second born will return to Bajor when they are of age to marry their prince. But our first will inherit my throne.” Sam said, softly. “This isn’t the place to talk, James. Come.”

Jim followed his brother and sister-in-law, out of habit more than anything -  a habit that hadn’t died in his brother’s absence, apparently. Jim was one day away from being King, and yet he followed, dazed and confused but with a hope bubbling in his chest that he wasn’t wise enough to temper.

The Cathedral looked less daunting with his brother beside him, even as Jim’s entire advisory body converged on them to greet the Heir. Sam had eyes only for Jim, though, and Jim felt twelve again – his big brother, convincing him to return to the castle after a particularly nasty episode of Frank’s.

“I should apologise. I… I was a poor heir, and a poorer brother. I sought escape only from my responsibilities, James, not from you. Not ever. But I was cowardly. Bajor was wonderful, Jim, but it wasn’t mine. This is my kingdom and my people, and Aurelan is my wife, and _you_ are my brother. Your opinion will decide my fate, King James.”

“I…” Jim swallowed, glancing from McCoy to Pike to Spock. Spock, whose face was completely blank. “I thought you don’t want this?”

“You’re wrong. I wanted this, I just wanted something else more.” He held his wife’s hand. “You were such an unhappy child, James. I was a poor brother, but I’m not sorry I left. I can promise you, though, that I don’t intend to leave again.” Sam smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners like their mother’s had done. “I’ll even spare you the worries of procession.” He teased, and Jim’s eyes cast down to the Lady Aurelan’s stomach.

“You’re with child?”

Aurelan was beautiful, and even more so when she replied, “Yes, your Majesty.”

“And you’re sure, too? You wish to be Queen.”

Aurelan offered him a sure smile. “I live to serve the King.” She said simply, glancing up at her husband’s blush. Jim tried not to snort. He had heard about the daughter of Bajor. Infinitely kind and generous, but in person she exuded warmth that Jim couldn’t comprehend. He knew that he trusted her on site, and that was a rare occasion indeed.

“Well… in that case, we better pull out the Queen’s throne.” Jim laughed, tension draining from his entire body he hadn’t even noticed before. How long had he been carrying that?

Sam grinned widely, clapping his hands against Jim’s shoulders. “Thank you, my brother. I hope you will spare me your advisors, Jim. I could use your advice too. I’m going to need you to stick around, for a few weeks at least?” Sam asked.

“I’m sure that can be arranged, your Majesty.” Jim smiled, though the request had grounded him a little more. He wasn’t sure if he even had anywhere else to go. “For now, we should return to the castle. Criers will need to be sent out to alert the kingdom, and the documents-“

“Will all be dealt with swiftly.” Christopher interjected. “Honestly, James, we were prepared for the eventuality that Sam would be king long before you became an option.”

“Charming.” Jim snorted, just as Sam spoke up.

“Not Sam. I’ll be crowned George. That’s what the people want. Another King George to remind them of the good old days.” And there it was. Sam’s sacrifice. As heavy as Jim having to give up Spock. Neither of them ever wanted to be compared to their father, unable to live up to the expectations. But Sam would do it for his people.

“King George II.” Jim tasted the words.

“Long Live the King.” Pike said, and the entourage repeated it after him loudly – Jim included. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He would not be King. He might never stop smiling again. “We must return to the castle- Jim?”

“I’ll follow, Christopher. Prince Spock, a word?”

The Cathedral began to clear of all but the decorators and Bishops, and Jim slowly began to walk to the door, following the others with Spock at his side. The Vulcan prince still looked completely shocked, which was not as funny as it should have been on his usually neutral face. Spock looked at the red carpet on which they walked, and Jim tried to control his own breathing, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now is the time to rescind your claim of T’hy’la, in case you hadn’t realised.”

“I had no intention of doing so.” Spock looked up, and Jim realised he was smiling. Broadly. “My T’hy’la. My King.”

Jim stopped dead in his tracks, staring in awe at his lover. “No-“

“One day, Jim. I will most likely inherit my father’s throne, and Vulcan will have you as their King, as they have my mother as Queen. They will adapt.”

“Are you sure? What about T’Pring. You were promised to her-”

“T’hy’la is more important. My people will accept that without question. You are… Jim, I have felt nothing like this before. I would marry you tomorrow, should you let me. And the children we bear will inherit out crowns; their cousins across the desert their greatest allies. And in Bajor too, when the second born is sent away.” Spock offered a hand, but he looked ready to bend the knee if that was what it took. “Do you object?”

“Not at all.” Jim breathed. Actually, it sounded perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://why-mr-spook.tumblr.com/)


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